


My Crush With Eyeliner

by vix_spes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint had no idea that his attire was going to get something that he had dreamed of but never hoped of getting. Fill for a prompt at cc_feelsmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Crush With Eyeliner

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing in this fandom so a bit nervous about posting! Huge thanks to blossomdreams and isisanubis for editing for me.

Clint slipped into Coulson’s office after checking that the coast was clear. If he was lucky, medical would think that he had gone off base rather than holing up inside his handler’s office. He wasn’t seriously injured, just a bit battered and bruised as a result of his perch collapsing; he hadn’t been convinced that it was safe but the agent in charge of the mission hadn’t listened to Clint’s objections. He had a sneaking suspicion that the agent in question was going to get himself a new asshole ripped for him by Coulson; the handler never took it well when his assets were injured on missions that he had no part in.

Toeing off his boots, Clint sunk down into the ridiculously soft couch that Coulson had brought in when Clint and later Natasha, had started spending a long time in the senior agents office. He had appropriated a set of SHIELD sweats before he slipped out of medical so he made himself comfortable on the couch, feeling the tension drain out of him now that he was away from medical. He slipped into a light doze, eyes springing open at the sound of the door opening. His hand was hovering above one of the knives that he habitually kept concealed on his person, even when back at SHIELD, and he knew that he could have it out and embedded in the door frame in a second. The familiar voice of Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster’s former grad student and now somehow Coulson’s assistant, filtered through the door and Clint’s hand moved away from the knife and he breathed again. It was Coulson and Darcy returning from wherever they had been so no need for him to be embedding knives in door frames. He could tell from the look on Coulson’s face as he entered the office that he had known exactly what Clint was about to do; he wasn’t so high up in the SHIELD food chain and handler to their two most dangerous agents for no reason.

“Did medical actually discharge you Barton or should I be expecting an irate phone call as soon as they’ve discovered you’re actually missing?”

Clint didn’t bother giving a verbal response, simply shrugging his shoulders and giving what he hoped was a winning smile. Not that it had ever worked before.

“Sit-rep?”

“What for? You’re going to get a copy of my debrief anyway.”

“How long have you been my asset Barton? I’ll read the debrief report when I get it but I want a sit-rep from you as well.”

The thing was, Clint knew that this was part of the routine. That Coulson would demand a sit-rep but then Clint whining was part of the routine as well and even this little thing was helping Clint decompress from the mission. Slowly but surely he started detailing everything that had happened on the mission, not even stopping for a drink until he had finished. There was a black look on Coulson’s face as he took note of the handler’s incompetence and Clint made a mental note to make sure that he was around when Coulson went to work. It was also part of their post-mission routine for Clint to rest in Coulson’s office before they grabbed food. It wasn’t much at all but it meant a lot to Clint. It had for a long time now.

Coulson had been the first person for a long time who had actually given a damn about Clint and okay, he had other people who cared about him now because he had Tasha and the rest of the Avengers but for a long time the only person had been Coulson. Admittedly, for a long time it had simply been a senior agent feeling responsible for the asset he recruited but that had slowly moved to a handler/agent relationship then a definite friendship that had moved to more than friendship on Clint’s side about a year after Natasha joined them.

He didn’t know exactly when his feelings had changed because it had actually been Natasha who had pointed out that Clint had feelings of a romantic bent for his handler, that the two of them had a very different relationship to other handler/asset teams. Clint had denied everything, pointing out that of course they had a different relationship because Clint’s entry into SHIELD hadn’t exactly been via the usual channels. Of course Natasha had countered that by saying that her recruitment hadn’t been by the book either but you didn’t see her pining over Coulson. Clint had opened his mouth to protest only to shut it after several minutes to the sound of Natasha laughing when he realised that she was right. He managed to sit through lunch in the canteen but was thoroughly distracted by Natasha’s words and had taken himself off to the range; still the best place for him to think.

Three hours of mindless repetition, the familiar action of draw and release, the reassuring thud of the arrows embedding into the target he had come to the realisation that Natasha was right but he wasn’t entirely sure to what extent.

He couldn’t deny that he found the older man attractive; he supposed he always had. The older man didn’t have the outright head turning good looks of say Steve Rogers but you couldn’t deny that he was the kind of unassuming handsome that Clint liked. He’d never really done the whole dating thing because, well, the circus wasn’t really conducive to the whole concept of dating and SHIELD was even worse but he’d never had a problem in finding people for sex as and when he wanted it. Incidentally, all of the men that he slept with were either the same age as him or older, normally older, while he had never been quiet as picky with women. Then again, after it had got out that he’d slept with Tasha then most other women around SHIELD were scared of encroaching on the Widow’s territory or they were A.D. Hill and he wasn’t going there. He’d presumed that what he felt for Coulson was a mix of lust and friendship and then Loki happened and he realised that wasn’t the case.

Returning to SHIELD after they had dealt with Loki and seen him sent back to Asgard was hard enough what with all of the people viewing him with hostility and betrayal but then he had been informed of Coulson’s death. He was used to being an outsider and he felt guilty as hell about what he had done while under Loki’s influence but the guilt and the loss that he felt about hearing of Coulson’s death was almost unbearable. Not being able to be around SHIELD and the memories of his handler, he had eagerly accepted Stark’s offer to move into the newly named Avengers Tower and holed himself up in the rooms that he had been given. He had been on auto-pilot for nearly three weeks, helping with clearing the devastation caused by Loki and the Chitauri and the rebuilding of Manhattan, doing a lot of thinking and spending too many hours on the newly built range in the early hours of the morning when he couldn’t sleep.

It was during this time that he came to one huge realisation … that it hadn’t been a combination of lust and friendship that he felt for Coulson but that it was, in all probability, love. And quite frankly, that was terrifying. Besides, how fucked up was it that he killed the man only to realise that he was in love with him. In the middle of his self-castigation came the arrival of Nick Fury and the news that Agent Coulson wasn’t in fact dead, although he had been several times, and that when he was healed he would be taking up the role as SHIELD liaison to the Avengers. Clint had welcomed Coulson back with more than a few reservations, not convinced how the man would feel towards him and it had taken more than a bit of convincing from Coulson before Clint truly believed that Coulson didn’t blame him for his actions whilst under Loki’s control. Once Clint finally believed that (Natasha kicking him around the training room several times had helped), they had resumed their prior relationship and routines as if Loki had never happened. It wasn’t the same though because Clint was now aware that he wanted more from Coulson, more than what he already had. And that was the rub because Clint wasn’t convinced that he deserved more than he had, regardless of how much he wanted it.

~*~

Clint should have known that agreeing to go out with Natasha and Darcy was a bad idea but in his defence, however much he loved them they were both very scary women and he was very interested in self-preservation. So, when they had ganged up on him the previous evening, actually ambushing him in the kitchen, he had done the safest thing that he could; he agreed to whatever they had wanted. He had wondered why the communal kitchen and living room was deserted when he went to scavenge some food and, as he was dragged to his rooms by his collar, he kind of wished that he had stayed at SHIELD to do his well overdue paperwork. At least then he would have seen Coulson. By the time that they had finished pulling his wardrobe apart and simultaneously threatening to take him shopping, he was starting to regret his decision to agree to the night’s activities and was wondering if he might have been better off taking the ass-kicking that would have ensued from Natasha. Still, he got dressed in the tight black jeans and tight t-shirt in a purple so deep it was almost black finished off with his combat boots with only a minimal amount of grumbling. And then Darcy came after him with an eyeliner pencil. Nothing she had done to him in New Mexico compared to this. Darcy applying eyeliner was pure torture. And Natasha helped her by pinning him down, the traitor. At the very least, he hoped that he would get drunk enough to forget that he was wearing eyeliner and that the two women had treated him as their own personal Ken doll.

The club that they dragged him to was obviously Darcy’s venue of choice if the way that she greeted the doormen was anything to go by. But as they were ushered into the club without question, which was a good thing as both Natasha and Clint were carrying several concealed weapons, he couldn’t help but think that maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as he had feared. He was also rather thankful that he and Natasha were still able to do this, to go out in the city, without being mobbed like Steve and Tony would be. The only way that they could go out was to sit in the VIP section of a club and then have the entire night spread across the papers the following morning; where was the fun in that? Despite having been incorporated into the Avengers Initiative, Clint and Natasha had retained their status as SHIELD assets and were still required to take missions as agents with either Agent Hill or Sitwell acting as their handler if Coulson was unavailable. As such, SHIELD took great pains to ensure that the two of them remained out of the public view as much as possible so that they could continue with the kind of work that they had done previously although Natasha had had to cut back on the amount of infiltration work she did; it was much easier for Clint to remain unseen on ops.

The beat of the bass washed over him as they entered the club itself and he felt a slight release of tension at being somewhere other than the Avengers Tower, SHIELD HQ or the Helicarrier. Natasha and Darcy were already at the bar so he made his way over to join them, aware of the jealous stares of surrounding men as he joined the two beautiful women. He obediently knocked back the shot Natasha handed him and then took a pull of the beer they had ordered for him, turning around so that he was leaning back against the bar.

“The whole point of this evening is for you to have a drink and enjoy yourself,” the words were breathed in his ear, “forget about Coulson for one evening. Pick a little toy for the evening, it won’t be difficult looking as you do.”

With that, Natasha tossed back another shot and sauntered off, slipping seamlessly into the crowds. Darcy had already found her first prey of the evening and was wrapped around a young man who looked as though his Christmas had come early. He continued to drink his beer as he watched the crowds, content with watching for the moment as he mulled over Natasha’s words in his head.

The problem was, it wasn’t that easy. He had been a huge part of Clint’s life, even before Clint’s feelings had taken on a more romantic bent. First they had been handler and asset then they had become friends while retaining their previous relationship and then, at some point before Loki and probably about their little trip to New Mexico to deal with Thor, his feelings had shifted from friendship to something that he would probably describe as love. Quite frankly, that terrified him.

He could quite easily pick someone up here and take them home for sex, now that he really looked around him, he was aware of the interested looks that he was getting from men and women alike, but it would just be a meaningless hook-up and he had tired of those early on during his time at SHIELD. Besides, he knew that it was a bit ridiculous but sleeping with anyone else felt as though he was betraying Coulson somehow. With that in mind, he knew that the only people he would be dancing with would be Darcy and Natasha. Finishing his beer, he shook his head at the somewhat hopeful looking man approaching him he pushed off the bar and walked through the mass of writhing bodies until he found Natasha. Ignoring the guy that she had been dancing with, he pressed up against her back and took hold of her hips as they started to move together. This was familiar, this was safe.

He was more than aware of the speculation around SHIELD, even in the Avengers Tower for a while, about the nature of the relationship between Hawkeye and the Black Widow. Most of them were convinced that the two spy-assassins were sleeping together and while that had been years ago just after Natasha had first been brought into SHIELD by Clint, they had swiftly realised that they just weren’t compatible in a romantic way. The two of them were as close as brother and sister and the only person that they trusted as much as each other was their shared handler, one Agent Coulson. Still, the sex between them had continued for a while when they both needed it, normally after a bad mission, and although they hadn’t had sex for a few years now, Clint was still the only person who was allowed to touch Natasha without warning and without being maimed.

The two of them moved in perfect harmony, every movement in complete synchronisation. It was obvious that this was familiar territory for both of them and within no time they had gained quite an audience although neither of them paid any attention to the admiring glances. They took periodic breaks for more drinks but always gravitated back towards each other, being joined by Darcy towards the latter half of their evening. And then the two women were announcing that they had had enough of the club but of course that didn’t mean that they were going back to the tower, oh no, that meant that Natasha was taking them elsewhere.

The second bar that they dragged him to was a typical choice of Natasha when she had decided that they’d spent too much time on SHIELD premises; some horrendous dive with good quality and cheap vodka. Clint hated places like that because it never ended well for him. He had lost count of the number of times that Coulson had had to bail them out because they had pissed off too many people and then laid too many patrons out cold when things had gone tits up later in the evening. Still, this one at least had a pool table and a darts board which made things bearable at least. Darcy had picked the place last time they went out, a bar that did karaoke of all things, and Clint had ended up belting out Journey songs with Darcy videoing the whole thing on her Starkphone and Natasha being very proud of her protégé. He didn’t know who had thought it was a good idea introducing those two to each other.

By the time that they got thrown out at five am Darcy had a collection of phone numbers that went into double digits, Natasha had drunk three different groups of men under the table (Clint was fairly certain that some of the students in group one were going to need their stomachs pumped) and Clint himself had hustled around $500 out of various idiots at darts and pool. Clint was all for going back to the Tower and his bed but oh no, Darcy was demanding food and insisting that she knew the best place to have breakfast, saying that it wasn’t far and that they could walk there. ‘Wasn’t far’ was forty-five minutes when the person you were with couldn’t really walk in a straight line but if the food was as good as Darcy claimed and she was willing to pay for a vat of a coffee and a stupidly large breakfast then he’d tag along with only a bit of complaining. The other reason for the lack of complaining was because he really loved New York at this time in the morning; the calm before the storm when the city was wide-awake and bustling. It was true that New York was the city that never truly slept but Clint loved walking the streets at times like this because it helped to calm his mind. At least he was still fairly with it despite the amount of alcohol he’d imbibed; one of the advantages of having a terrifying Russian as his best friend was that his alcohol tolerance had risen pretty damn quickly.

They finally arrived at the diner and Clint grudgingly had to admit that maybe Darcy had been right and it was bloody good food. It was the kind of place that Steve would like; a good old-fashioned diner that served big portions, something that was necessary where all of the Avengers were concerned, Natasha being the only exception.

Of course, all good things had to come to an end and, just as they were preparing to head back to the Tower and bed, Darcy received a phone call from Coulson informing her that the Avengers were required at SHIELD HQ for a briefing and would she bring along Agents Barton and Romanov should she know where they were. Darcy, new as she was to both SHIELD and Coulson, protested the demands saying that they were still out and requesting that they be able to return to the tower to at least shower and change only to be told that that wasn’t an option. They were expected at SHIELD in an hour’s time. No excuses, no delays. They could shower briefly before they shipped out.

(~*~)

Less than an hour later, as he walked into meeting room 1 of SHIELD HQ to attend a briefing, Clint couldn’t help but curse both Natasha and Darcy. Natasha was looking the same as she always did, as though they hadn’t spent the entire night drinking vodka and not having any sleep, while Darcy was nursing a gigantic mug of coffee could probably nap at her desk on and off during the day. The only reassurance was that this was an Avengers briefing rather than a SHIELD one so he didn’t have to concentrate quite as much; he could probably doze through the meeting and let Natasha give him the pertinent details when they were on the jet. His eyes only briefly flicked towards Coulson sat at the head of the table before he slumped into a seat and made a half-hearted attempt at leafing through the file before he threw it on the table and let his chin slump onto his chest. In doing so, he ignored Tony’s teasing jibes and the widened eyes of Steve and Bruce; Thor wasn’t forthcoming but then he was fairly familiar with Darcy and her antics. He closed his eyes and grunted out a few strategic suggestions when asked; he might not be a genius like Tony or a scientist like Bruce but he was still shit-hot when it came to strategy and maths, otherwise how would he calculate his trajectories. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to be asked any more questions, he tuned out the conversations going on around him and let himself slip into a light doze. Any kind of sleep, even if it was just a nap, would be better than nothing.

“Agent Barton, I need to speak with you in my office please.”

Clint jerked awake as Natasha kicked his ankle viciously. “Huh? Wh-what? I’m awake!”

“Briefing is over Agent Barton but I need to speak to you in my office.” Coulson collected his files and swept towards the exit, pausing at the door. “Now, Agent Barton.”

There was only one thing that Clint could do and that was follow his handler down the corridors of HQ to the older man’s office, somewhere that, if Clint was honest, was one of his favourite places. He’d lost track of the hours that he had spent holed up in there or in the vents above it if another agent, often Hill or Sitwell, was on the warpath after him. Trailing a few paces behind the older man, Clint wished, not for the first time, that the older man would wear something other than the damn suits that he seemed to permanently live in or that, just for once, he would remove the jacket. He was completely oblivious to the stares that he was getting in his current state of dress and simply walked along in something of a daze, until they reached Coulson’s office.

“Shut the door, Barton.”

Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn’t been for Coulson to whirl around as soon as the door was closed and press Clint up against it, a hand slipping behind the marksman to lock the door so that no-one else could come in. The sensation of the older man’s body pressed fully against his, pressing him into the wood of the door, had Clint letting out a gasp of pleasure.

“What the…”

Clint struggled to prevent himself from shivering as hot breath ghosted across his ear followed by teeth grazing across the same ear.

“Do you have any idea what you look like?”

Clint had heard Coulson’s voice a lot over the years in a variety of forms; in his ear on ops, talking him through various briefings, injuries and yelling at him for leaving medical without being discharged. In all the years that he had known Coulson, he had never heard his voice like this although it had been disturbingly similar in his dreams. The voice that Coulson was using was sex, pure and simple. It was low, rough, needy and it caused Clint’s cock to harden in his skin tight jeans.

“You’re a walking temptation Clint Barton. It’s bad enough on a normal day but then you walked into that briefing and I couldn’t concentrate. All I could think about was getting you in private and making you fall apart in my hands.”

Clint couldn’t help the whimper that tore from him at the prospect of finally getting what he wanted before he recovered himself and smirked. “What would Captain America say Agent Coulson?”

“Damn Captain America.”

The words were practically growled out and Clint couldn’t help but chuckle at the oh-so-stoic Agent Phil Coulson, the ultimate fanboy, saying damn his childhood hero. The laughter didn’t last long because Clint’s mouth was otherwise, and most pleasurably, occupied. Clint had spent a lot of time imagining what it would be like to kiss Phil Coulson but none of his imaginings had come anywhere close to what it was like. This kiss was hard and fierce, stealing the breath from their lungs, teeth clashing and noses bumping; no finesse to it whatsoever. When they parted, staying close together, Clint could feel the curls of lust in his stomach at the look on Phil’s face.

Just as he was familiar with the different nuances of Coulson’s voice, Clint was equally as adept at reading Phil’s face, although it was much harder to read than his voice. Still, observing was what Clint was good at, what SHIELD paid him to be good at, and he had spent a lot of time observing Coulson and learning the man’s expressions. Despite all of that, Clint had never seen the look that the man was currently wearing. It was smouldering, not a white-hot quick flash of lust to be slaked and then abandoned but a steady burning heat that, if he gave himself up to it, would encompass him totally. He had wanted this for so long that he didn’t even need to think, he gave himself up to it.

This time when their mouths met, it couldn’t be more different from their first kiss. There were no noses bumping, no clashing of teeth. Instead of the fierceness from before, it was almost chaste. This was a thorough exploration of each other’s mouths, Coulson’s hands framing Clint’s face while Clint had one hand speared through Phil’s hair and the other fisted in the lapel of Phil’s jacket. It didn’t stay chaste for long. Gradually, hands began to wander and explore as the kisses themselves heated up and became more passionate. Coulson became more adventurous first, his hands running along the bare skin just above the waistband of Clint’s jeans before one of them slid around to cup Clint’s arse even as the other started to work on the button of the archer’s jeans. Clint couldn’t help  but pull back in surprise at his actions.

“Seriously? You want to do this here?” As soon as the words were out of Clint’s mouth he knew that they had been the wrong words. Then again, Coulson had always been the one good with the words and Clint had been a man of action. Coulson withdrew and the doubt as to whether or not he’d done the right thing was clearly visible on his face and Clint hated that he had caused that. He reached out and grabbed Phil by the tie, reeling him back in closer. “Don’t think that I don’t want you because I do. I’ve wanted you for a hell of a long time but I’m just surprised because you’re always Mr Competence; it doesn’t seem like you to be initiating sex in your office.”

“Yes well, I wouldn’t be initiating sex in my office if you weren’t wandering into briefings looking like a walking advert for sex. Did you not see the looks that you were getting when you walked into that room? Why would you choose me of all people?”

“I’ve obviously got a kink for competency. And American paperwork ninja’s,” he added as an afterthought.

Phil laughed at that, the action making his eyes flash and crinkle at the corners, something that Clint loved to see, didn’t see often enough, and couldn’t resist. He leant in and kissed Phil, deft fingers making quick work of the agents tie and starting on the buttons of his shirt.

“You always were a strange one Barton.”

“Are you complaining _Sir_?”

“Not at all Barton, not at all.”

Clint pulled back from where he had been tracing the tendons in Phil’s neck with his tongue, a look of disbelief on his face. “Seriously? You’ve had your tongue down my throat and your hand is on my ass. I think we’re probably on a first name basis now.”

“I think you’re probably right for once,” Phil leant in so that his mouth was pressed to Clint’s ear, “ _Clint_.”

The marksman moaned at that, his hips bucking of their own volition. “Fuck! Phil!”

That simple change, allowing themselves to use their first names out loud rather than simply in their heads, seemed to have freed something in them. This time when their lips met, they were fused together even as their hands scrabbled at each other’s clothing. They blindly kicked their shoes off as they crossed the room, Phil’s normal care with his clothes ignored as items of clothing were discarded where they fell or where they were thrown. The only time that they broke apart was to remove Phil’s undershirt and Clint’s t-shirt. Even then, they were back together in seconds but this time the pace was less frantic. This was exploratory. They were taking the time to learn bodies and scars with hands and lips, bodies and scars that they had seen hundreds of times over the years that they had been working together but had never been at liberty to truly look.

It wasn’t easy for either of them, knowing just how many scars they bore, Phil from his time in the Marines and then the occasional scar from his time with SHIELD plus the glaringly obvious one while Clint had a lifetime of scars from exactly that, life, before his time with SHIELD had even begun. Neither of them was embarrassed, merely conscious of the marks that they bore.

Having reached the sofa, Clint took the lead and pushed Phil down onto it, dropping to his knees in between the older man’s spread legs. Looking up at Phil with a wicked smirk, Clint slowly made his way down the older man’s chest with a trail of kisses and nips, lavishing particular attention on the large puckered scar that traversed the left hand side of Phil’s chest. He didn’t even stop when he reached Phil’s boxers, the only item of clothing that he was wearing, mouthing Phil’s cock through the thin cotton fabric before pulling away.

“I always had you pegged as a briefs kind of man sir.”

“You’re coming out with smart-ass comments now?” Phil seemed to be restraining himself from forcing Clint’s mouth back onto his cock. “And don’t call me sir when we’re about to have sex.”

“Why? Does it turn you on sir?”

Clint’s laugh was smothered as Phil groaned and tugged him up into a seriously filthy kiss full of tongue. Hands started to roam again, this time mostly unhindered by clothing as Coulson still wore just his boxers and Clint was still in his jeans. Clint couldn’t help but yelp as Phil bit his lip at the same time as he unfastened Clint’s jeans and slid his hands in to grab Clint’s ass.

“What the hell was that for?”

“I might have guessed that you would be going commando.”

“You complaining?” Clint raised an eyebrow and then waggled it as he felt an appreciative squeeze to his ass.

“Not at all.” Phil’s words were almost muffled by the fact that he was now exploring Clint’s neck and collarbone with his lips and teeth even as his hands were roaming over Clint’s back and shoulders. “You should be prepping for the mission.”

“Is that you saying that you want to stop?”

“No.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“If you want it, there’s lube and condoms in the bottom drawer of the desk.” Only someone who knew him well would hear the faint thread of nerves in Phil’s voice.

Clint didn’t give a verbal response, simply standing and padding silently to the drawer in question, his unfastened jeans barely clinging to the swell of his arse. When he returned, he shucked his jeans completely before pressing the tube of lubricant and a condom into Phil’s hand, despite the older man’s surprise.

“Are you sure?”

Clint had to swallow hard to try and get the words out. Now that they had finally reached this moment, his throat was dry with anticipation. “Positive.”

That one word seemed to break down any barriers for Phil and he yanked Clint down by the hips so that he tumbled onto Phil’s lap, their lips once again fused together. So many people who didn’t know Phil Coulson were convinced that the man was simply a paper-pusher and a handler, that he wasn’t capable of field work beyond handling his assets. They didn’t know that he still trained almost every day, was in the top 5% of SHIELD agents on the range and that there was a quiet, unassuming strength hidden behind the Armani and Dolce suits. That strength was undeniable as he tightened his grip on Clint and flipped them so that Clint was pinned beneath him on the couch.

Once upon a time, Clint would have fought for dominance and with the two of them that would probably come later but for now he was simply happy to lie back as Phil pressed kisses down his neck and explored his collar bone while he simultaneously flipped open the cap of the lubricant. Clint couldn’t help the moan that ripped out of him as the first of Phil’s fingers slowly entered him.

“Fuck Clint, you’re so tight.”

“Told you. It’s been a long time. And have I ever told you how sexy you sound when you curse?”

Phil’s response was to insert a second lubricated finger, scissoring them carefully as he slowly but surely fingered Clint open. Despite the fact that Clint had willingly taken a less dominant role, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t’ going to take an active role in his own seduction. He slide his hand around Phil’s cock, stroking it a few times as he simultaneously pressed open-mouthed kisses to whatever part of Phil he could reach. He couldn’t help but writhe and buck his hips, whimpering shamelessly as Phil’s fingers rubbed insistently over his prostate.

“Phil, please. I want you now. I need you in me.”

Phil’s fingers still their movement making Clint whine again and rut his hips in an attempt to get the friction that he wanted.

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus Phil, just fuck me. Or do you want bloody Stark walking in wondering where we are?”

“Well when you put it that way…” Phil reached for the discarded condom, fumbling slightly until Clint gave a helping hand before slicking the latex-sheathed flesh with lubricant.

Phil didn’t waste any time in sliding fully into Clint, muffling both of their moans as best as he could by licking languorously into Clint’s mouth, tongues tangling together. Their mouths met over and over again in a series of messy kisses as they struggled to keep their moans and words at a volume where they couldn't be heard although the sound of slightly sticky, sweaty flesh on the couch wasn’t quite as easily hidden. As Phil rocked in and out of Clint, his pace steadily speeding up even as he encouraged Clint to hitch one of his legs up to wrap around Phil's hip so that he could achieve deeper penetration.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Feel so good wrapped around me.” Phil leant down to bite and suck a livid bruise right at the base of Clint’s throat, feeling the need to mark what was now his.

There would be time for slow and sensual later, now was not the time. Neither of them were capable of comprehensible conversation or even coherent thought. All that was escaping their mouths was a mixture of soft moans and whimpers along with huffs of breath and various combinations of "Fuck", "please" and "more". Neither of them was going to last long, not only because of the lack of time but also because of the years of sexual tension, and Phil knew that. Feeling himself getting closer to orgasm he reached between them and with a fair amount of fumbling, he grasped Clint's cock in one large hand. It only took a few strokes before Clint was spilling himself over his stomach and Phil's hand, biting his lip hard to stop himself from making too much noise. Clint's orgasm caused him to clench convulsively around Phil's cock, milking his own release from him and causing him to slump over Clint's body in exhaustion, absentmindedly pressing a kiss against one sweat-dampened temple. They really should be getting ready for the mission, they shouldn’t have even done this now, but Phil thought that he could allow them just a couple of minutes as he settled his weight more fully over Clint, pressing him down into the sofa.

(~*~)

“This wasn’t how I wanted this to happen.” Phil spoke up from where he was sat at his desk having abandoned doing up his shirt buttons in favour of watching Clint bent over in order to pull his jeans on, fascinated by the subtle play of muscles shifting under the archer’s skin. His words had obviously been the wrong ones because it was impossible to miss the way that Clint tensed.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you regret what we’ve just done?”

Phil could kick himself. He knows Clint, knows how the archer thinks and this is exactly what he wanted to avoid. He held out his hand, “Come here,” hoping desperately that Clint would do exactly that and not bolt, citing the mission as his excuse. Thankfully, Clint did as Phil hoped and moved forward, allowing himself to be pulled into Phil’s lap with only a modicum of fuss.

There was silence from both of them for several long minutes, neither of them entirely certain of where to start before Clint’s soft voice broke the silence.

“Do you? Regret it?”

hil surged up and pressed a possessive kiss to Clint’s mouth. “Of course I don’t regret it. I’ve wanted this, wanted you for such a long time. What I meant was that I didn’t want our first time to be a quickie in my office before you go off on a mission. You deserved something better than that.”

“Phil, I got you. Considering some of the stuff that I’ve done in the past year,” as he spoke Clint’s hand pressed against the scar on Phil’s chest, “the fact that this happened at all is more than I deserve.”

“No it’s really not and when you get back I will take great delight in hammering that point home until you believe it. I,” there was a pause as Phil seemed to gather his courage, “well to be perfectly honest, I love you so you’re pretty much stuck with me.”

The soft, small smile that Phil received in return, the one that only he and Natasha ever saw and even then it was incredibly infrequent, made it worth it. Even more worth it were the words that came afterwards, “I-I love you too.”

The kiss that followed was achingly soft and tender, both of them smiling as they pulled apart just enough so that their foreheads were touching.

“This may not have been what I was intending but I’ll make sure that you get what you deserve when you come home. I’ll convince Fury to give us both a couple of day’s leave.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Sir.”

With that sorted out, it didn’t take long for them to finish redressing and become ensconced in Phil’s ridiculously large leather and perfectly ergonomically designed desk chair, with Clint straddling Phil’s lap and trading kisses, as they both ignored the fact that Clint really should be suiting up for the mission and that the files and papers which had been neatly organised and stacked on Phil’s desk were now scattered all over. Pulling back briefly, Phil brushed a thumb over Clint’s bottom lip and then ran another finger just underneath the kohl-lined eyes.

“Not that I’m complaining, because you look really good in it, but why are you wearing eyeliner?”

“Because I got attacked by your assistant and my supposed best friend.”

“Sounds about right where those two are concerned. We never should have introduced them to each other.”

“Another kiss or two will probably help abate the trauma.”

With those words, Phil rolled his eyes but leant in for another kiss that lasted much longer than he had been intending. It would have lasted even longer had it not been for the door handle jiggling and a loud hammering on the door followed by an equally loud voice that they both recognised instantaneously.

“Hey, Bossman! If you’ve quite finished sexing it up in there, Clint needs to actually get ready for this mission. The jet leaves in twenty minutes. You can fuck him into the mattress all you want when he gets back but it’s probably a good idea if Hawkeye isn’t covered in love-bites should the press turn up.”

Pushing Clint up to sit on the edge of the desk, Phil crossed the room in several long strides, flicked the lock and flung the door open quickly before pinning Darcy with the glare that normally made junior agents quiver in their boots.

Darcy was unaffected however. That wasn’t entirely surprising given the fact that she had tased Thor and now worked with the Avenger’s as Phil’s assistant. More than anything, she seemed thoroughly disappointed by Phil’s unruffled appearance.

“Seriously, Clint walks into a briefing looking like that, you summon him to your office and then you don’t tap that? Geez, normally you can’t keep your eyes off his ass never mind the rest of him. Are you sure you’re not a robot or one of those LMD thingies Stark’s been babbling about?”

“Agent Lewis, please do try and keep your voice down. Besides, what makes you think that I haven’t fucked him already?”

Darcy peeked around Coulson into the office and to where Clint was pulling his boots back on, looking even more debauched than he had when they had entered the briefing. His tight fitting clothing and kohl-smudged eyes had now been accessorised with just-been-fucked hair, kiss-swollen lips and several livid bruises on his neck.

“Kudos Bossman, doing the nasty in your office. I never would have expected it of you. If that doesn’t tell those ditzy junior agents who Hawkeye belongs to, I don’t think anything will.” She then turned her attention to Clint, “but you need to get a shift on or Fury’s going to kick your ass.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” Having pulled on his boots, Clint made his way across the office and pressed a quick kiss to Phil’s lips on his way out of the door before moving off down the corridor.

“Agent Barton, I expect to see you as soon as you return. We need to complete this discussion.”

Clint’s only outward signal that he had heard Phil’s words was a jaunty salute over his shoulder as he continued on his way as Phil pointedly ignored Darcy’s muttered words.

“Discussion. _Discussion._ Is that what you’re calling that?”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt at the cc_feelsmeme on LJ: So yeah, thanks to the thread above mentioning Jeremy Renner in Pink's video for 'Trouble' - Clint, with eyeliner.
> 
> Clint turns up to a (de)briefing or some team event and he's obviously just either fallen out of a club or is on his way to one and his gorgeous eyes are outlined in black kohl.
> 
> Cue Coulson losing a few degrees of coolness and plotting to do something indecent to the archer just as soon as they've got a door between them and the rest of the team.
> 
> The title is taken from the REM song 'Crush With Eyeliner'


End file.
